


Umbrella

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Crack, I love that Mycroft's Umbrella is a canonical AO3 tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:24:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: “Sherlock! Brought you a present, love!” John toed off his wet shoes and hung up his coat. Sherlock actually paused his experiment in the kitchen to come see. “You brought me an umbrella.” His eyes narrowed, then widened. “You brought me Mycroft’s umbrella.” “Wondered if you’d recognize it. Figured you had ten experiments in your head for it already.” John shook the water off it and handed it over. “Also told him not to expect it back.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, this was gonna be a G-rated 221B ficlet. It grew.

“Sherlock! Brought you a present, love!” John toed off his wet shoes and hung up his coat. Sherlock actually paused his experiment in the kitchen to come see.

“You brought me an umbrella.” His eyes narrowed, then widened. “You brought me _Mycroft’s_ umbrella.”

“Wondered if you’d recognize it. Figured you had ten experiments in your head for it already.” John shook the water off it and handed it over. “Also told him not to expect it back.”

“Mycroft _gave_ you his umbrella? Why? How?”

John turned his back a bit so Sherlock couldn’t instantly read the last twenty minutes on his face. Would ruin the fun of actually telling the story. “Oh, you know,” he said with a shrug. “It was drizzling. Also, he didn’t exactly offer.”

“You took it.” Sherlock frowned, visibly trying to work out what John wasn’t telling him. “And he knew, since you just said you spoke about it, so you didn’t just swipe it from his office when you thought he wasn’t looking.”

“Since when do I ever go to his office?”

Sherlock froze, mouth open mid-thought. “Oh. John. _John._ You’re brilliant. Incredible.”

“That’s usually my line.”

“You’re so good to me.” Sherlock swooped in and pressed a quick kiss in the general region of John’s lips before whirling around and clutching the umbrella to his chest like a teenage girl getting a love letter from her first crush. “Tell me, did you break his nose? Dislocate his shoulder? Please tell me he’s going to be limping for a while and will dress dramatically left from now on.”

 _Bloody_ \--”What? Sherlock, no, I did not kick your brother in the bollocks. Nor did I punch him in the nose.” John sighed dramatically. “Much as I know you would have liked that. No, I just walked home today and had an unexpected encounter.”

“He pulled up alongside you in one of those ubiquitous black cars of his and told you to get in.”

Oh, yes. This, the opportunity to deduce something, was his favorite thing to give to Sherlock. More than body parts (which he still didn’t want to encourage), more than chocolate biscuits, more than even Mycroft’s umbrella. John nodded. “And?”

“And you said no.” Sherlock’s smile stretched into a feral grin. “John, do you know how rare that is? I mostly do it so he doesn’t forget what the word means.”

“Yeah, well, he may have needed another reminder.” John scratched his jaw absently. “Didn’t take it well at all when I didn’t comply.”

“Followed you, trying to glare you into submission, and when that didn’t work he had one of his goons try to physically intimidate you.”

“Two, actually.”

“And you told him to fuck off.”

“Not in so many words,” John admitted. “Mostly I just ignored him and hummed ‘God Save the Queen’ as loudly as I could. Pretty sure the driver was trying to hide a smile.”

“Tell me.” Sherlock was practically radiant now, the full wattage of his excitement turned squarely on John, and it was a heady experience. One John had fallen in love with the first time he’d experienced it. One he’d vowed he’d seek from his extraordinary flatmate-turned-life-partner for as long as the git was willing to keep him around. “I want to hear the whole glorious tale with nothing left out.”

“You already deduced most of it.” Given no help from John, of course. Well, no help other than the presence of the umbrella itself, which had been tossed onto the sofa and was now being largely ignored. “Mycroft said to get in the car and it occurred to me I could say no. So I did. He tried having the driver pace me for a while, but apparently crawling along with the rear passenger door open was too undignified for him to sustain for long. I got caught up at the zebra crossing on Kinton Avenue - you know, the one with the tall fences on either side? - which was where he apparently thought it would be a good idea to have his two minions physically force me into the car. I didn’t go.”

Sherlock licked his lips. His tight dress trousers didn’t hide the effect that John’s badass streak - his “physical displays of masculine power constructs,” the way Sherlock generally put it - turned him on. Not that he was ever particularly shy about wanting sex . . . which was the reason John had opted to ignore Mycroft’s calls all afternoon and walk home in the rain in the first place. That part was better left unsaid, though. It was usually better not to admit “I spent my day at work wanting to fuck you into a puddle” when one’s partner was liable to show up at said workplace intending to follow through.

“You defended yourself,” Sherlock concluded. His voice was lower than usual. He was also stating the obvious, which meant they were about five minutes out from John getting to bend the berk over the nearest piece of furniture and Sherlock encouraging him through every filthy bit of it. “You were prepared, and you’ve been exercising up in your old room whenever I’ve been busy with other experiments. We haven’t had a physical case in nearly three months. You were bored.”

“Mmmm.” John put his hands on Sherlock’s hips and drew him in for a kiss. “That’s not the only thing I’m prepared for.”

“You trusted that I’d prefer sex with you over starting a destructive and possibly dangerous experiment with my brother’s umbrella?” Sherlock kissed him back, shamelessly grinding his erection against John’s abdomen. “This from someone who keeps trying to remind me my body is more than just transport?”

“Oh, love, I know you better than that.” John slipped the tiny packet of lube out from his pocket and into Sherlock’s. His fingers _may_ have strayed a bit while in there. Sherlock literally whimpered when John finally pulled back and offered him the umbrella, handle-first. “You’re good at many, _many_ things,” John said, leveling a scorching look his lover’s way, “but my favorite is your proficiency for multitasking.” 

***

Some time later, after Sherlock was once again able to multitask breathing and standing at the same time and had _thoroughly_ demonstrated his creativity while under pressure, Mycroft’s security cameras caught footage of a broken umbrella flying out a back window of 221B. The operator on duty zoomed in on the bedraggled object, noted its current state, then opted not to mention to his superiors that the missing umbrella had in fact been found.

Mr. Holmes probably didn’t want to know.

**Author's Note:**

> [Obligatory note: no, umbrellas don't fit up there. Let's give Sherlock credit for being more creative than that.]


End file.
